


Hold Back the River

by sparklight



Series: Courting Ganymede [9]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Ganymede/Zeus, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:27:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23399941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: Tried to keep you close to meBut life got in betweenTried to square not being thereBut think that I should have beenJust because you yourself have become immortal doesn't mean the rest of the world is. That is something Ganymede has to face now, decades after being brought to Olympos. He does at least get a chance to say goodbye.
Relationships: Ganymede & Callirrhoe (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ganymede & Tros (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: Courting Ganymede [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672690
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Hold Back the River

"---mede, wake up."

Grumbling in protest, Ganymede was dragged out of sleep more because he was rolled over than for Zeus calling him. Rubbing his eyes with a sleep-clumsy, heavy hand, he squinted up at the god, lit up in a gentle halo of light from the single little oil lamp on the table beside the bed.

"... Zeus?" Confused, Ganymede slowly sat up, running a hand through his hair and pushing the curls away from his face in the same motion. Zeus had been with Hera tonight, and it was very, very rare he came into Ganymede's room then. And for the rare times that he did, he usually didn't wake him up. But here he stood now, leaned over him and looking... "What is it?"

Usually warm gray eyes were fathomless, and Zeus’ heavy brows were furrowed, but he reached out with nothing but slow gentleness to hook a couple errant curls behind one of Ganymede's ears.

"Come with me."

Thoroughly confused, Ganymede rolled out of bed, found something to wear, and walked barefoot alongside Zeus through the dark, silent hallways. It wasn't until they were nearly at the entrance that Zeus sighed, a large hand dropping down onto one of Ganymede's shoulders, heavy and warm.

"Your father dies tonight," Zeus said, his voice barely stirring the air, so deep was the rumble of it, "Hermes will take you."

"He---" A hot stab of mingled pain and protest pierced Ganymede, choking him up. He'd known it was going to happen, had been glancing with increasing frequency towards Troy, far more often than he'd done in years. Had even made a wistful comment or two about wanting to be able to say goodbye. Zeus hadn't acknowledged any of them, and for all that Ganymede got basically anything he might ask for, leaving for Troy was a more sensitive matter. He hadn't thought it would happen. Had - he thought - accepted than he might wake up any day now and find his father dead; it wouldn't be a surprise. King Tros was _old_ now, blessedly old, but that only meant he was living on borrowed time.

And yet, with Zeus proclaiming it was happening _tonight_ , all Ganymede could think was _not yet, too soon_. All too soon, so much time gone. Time he hadn’t been there for.

"... Hermes will take me?" Ganymede repeated Zeus' last statement with baffled lack of comprehension, barely grasping he _was_ going to be allowed to say goodbye. The hand on his shoulder squeezed again, thumb stroking his skin.

"He'll be there from start to finish to ensure your father gets where he's going properly, so you'll have to fly back yourself, but yes. He'll take you down to Troy." They stepped out onto the stairs, the night air chill and crisp. Ganymede shivered and stepped closer to Zeus, radiating warmth as he was. At the bottom of the stairs Hermes stood beside a biga, the two horses scraping at the ground. "Anyone who is in the room with your father, or comes in, you may talk to, but don't go wandering the palace, Ganymede. You're not there for that."

Looking up at Zeus and the silent darkness in his eyes, Ganymede closed his eyes and nodded. Opened them again and stepped away from both the hand on his shoulder and Zeus' warmth, but turned around to snatch up the hand that'd slid off his shoulder before Zeus could take it back fully. Even with both of his hands clasped around it, he couldn't cover it, but he squeezed it anyway and tried to actually say something against the aching pulse that had pushed up from his chest up into his throat. Zeus shook his head and reached out with the hand Ganymede had caught, ignoring the grip other than to curl his fingers around one of the hands clutching his, and brushed his knuckles against Ganymede's cheek.

"Go."

Swallowing, Ganymede nodded and let go, nearly tripped down the stairs but kept his balance. Managed something of a smile for Hermes, but was both infinitely grateful and relieved when he just smiled and, after they both had gotten onto the chariot, handed him the reins and otherwise said nothing. He wasn't sure he'd be able to hold an actual conversation, or that his voice wouldn't break if he tried. 

It was simpler to focus on the horses, the chariot, the path they cut through the air.

Troy was mostly dark when they came in above it, flickering fires like scattered gems, and Ganymede wasn't sure whether he wished it was day so he could see the city more easily now that he was right above it and going lower, or glad he couldn't in the dark. What he saw was as familiar as it was not, which left him jittery with growing tension. It was a reminder he’d been gone for what was a long time for any mortal by now. They left the horses at a shielded place near the palace and walked the rest of the way. 

Every single step the further in among the buildings, then into them, that they took brought up memories, and Ganymede was hard-pressed not to tear down the hallway to... he wouldn't even know where to start. 

There were so many places he could, he’d want to go. Maybe it was a good thing Zeus had forbidden him to go running off anywhere but the room his father was in. 

Here, too, everything was achingly familiar and terribly _un_ familiar, but far worse than when just passing over the city as a whole. Every change he could spot reminded Ganymede he hadn't been here, that he didn't know all that had happened, that he _didn't belong_ any longer, no matter that he'd run around these hallways for seventeen years. That was a very long time ago, now. It didn’t feel very long ago, but it was. Cleomestra had been married for decades, Assaracus had, through unfortunate happenstance, ended up taking the throne of Dardanos. Years ago. Things he hadn’t been there for, things he should have been there for.

So many things.

His hand was clutching Hermes' cloak, and Ganymede couldn't for the life of him remember if it had started out in that heavily-fringed, familiarly checked pattern and being draped over one shoulder or not. Just glancing at it out of the corner of his eye made his throat close up. Turning his eyes a little higher almost made him choke for another reason entirely however, for while the memory was rather dim, he recognized the bearded man in his mid-twenties Hermes had taken the shape of. _Nikomedes_. Though Nikomedes wouldn't have looked like this for decades by now. Another reminder, but as much as it hurt, Ganymede felt strangely grateful to Hermes instead. Brown eyes flicked down to him and Hermes winked, though that was the only levity left to his expression. They stopped at a door, and Ganymede twisted his hand in the heavy cloak Hermes wore.

"Hermes---" He couldn't do this. He wanted to do this. Needed to do it.

"Remember, you can't talk to anyone who doesn't come into the room, and I will be here until it's time," Hermes murmured, and then pushed him inside, the door having opened somewhere between Hermes starting to talk and finishing his sentence. The heavy door gently thumped closed behind him, and Ganymede froze there. The room was faintly lit up by a couple oil lamps, which hid the cloying scent of old age and impending death. Lending some false security and homeliness to the surprisingly small space.

No, not surprising. He was just used to Olympos' wide open hallways and towering spaces.

Across from him, an old woman was leaning close against the bed she was sitting next to on a chair piled with cushions. One of her thin, wrinkled hands was gripping a thicker, but no less fragile-seeming, hand belonging to the man laying in the bed, sleeping shallowly. He recognized them both, though it took an aching moment of baffled confusion; they seemed like they should already be dead, both of them, as worn as they looked.

Which was ridiculous, Ganymede recognized a moment later. Just because they looked old didn’t mean they looked dead. His father soon would be dead, definitely; that was the sole reason he was here. Otherwise, while his parents were definitely old, having gotten to live to kindly venerable age (and perhaps that, too, might have been a gift as well, one which he hadn't even known about until now, who knew?) their looks were only chocking because he hadn't seen anyone aged in so long. He wasn’t used to it.

What had he been _doing_ , these past decades? 

Tightening shaking fingers into trembling fists as his nails dug into his soft palms, Ganymede swallowed against the convulsion of his throat. He'd been living, and there was nothing wrong with that, but... what about this? What about what he'd left behind, if not by choice, what about everything he'd missed? All of it gone, or would eventually be.

"Mother---"

It was a shaking whisper, and when the old woman in the chair startled awake despite how softly he'd spoken, Ganymede almost fled the room. Hazel eyes, surprisingly bright despite the dry tiredness evident in them, opened and pinned him into place. She blinked, once, twice, then she opened her mouth, lips trembling.

"... G-ganymede?" The gasp, soft and brittle, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, undid him.

" _Mother_ , I---" He crossed the floor in a blink, and collapsed at her knees. Burying his face in the thick blanket wrapped around her, Ganymede burst into tears. The blanket was fine, made of embroidered wool seemingly rough against his skin after so long with divinely crafted fabrics; the not-really-rough drag of it against his cheek was as damning as it was reassuring. Ganymede shook only harder when a hand slender with age dropped onto his head, thin fingers gently combing through the shining curls. "I'm _sorry_ , I---"

"Hush, darling." Now that she was at least reasonably sure he was actually there, Callirrhoe sounded nothing but serene, her voice dipping back into echoes of remembered richness from his childhood. "You're here now. You _are_ , aren't you? I'm not just dreaming..?"

" _No_." His voice cracked, though he tried to be quiet for his father's sake. Not that he wasn't going to wake him up, for he wanted, needed to talk to him too, but all the lost time made it seem as if he just let him sleep a little longer, the inevitable would be put off. "No, y-you're not, I--- Father Zeus let me come, to..."

How was he supposed to say this? How could he come here and announce he was here only because Tros was dying tonight? Fresh tears welled up, and for all that he was immortal, it seemed like his heart was having trouble to beat.

"He's dying tonight, then, isn't he?" Callirrhoe sighed, a gentle breath of acceptance and, somehow, happiness, and a sob cracked right through Ganymede, the confirmation mumbled unintelligibly into his mother's lap. "Shh. Come here. Let me look at you."

The hand in his hair slid down, around to cup his face, her other coming to join it to urge him to shift up, lift his face. They were both trembling. Ganymede didn't want to, and really, Callirrhoe was no longer strong enough to force him. He sat up anyway, following the gentle pull until he was looking up into his mother's lined, thin face. Ganymede would just have crumpled again if it wasn't for the star-eyed smile on his mother's face, but tears spilled over again as he saw it and she whispered soothing nothings even as she, too, started crying, clucking gently as if he was _five_ , not seventeen and... and several decades more.

"Have you been _happy_ , Ganymede?"

Had he been happy? Blinking tears out of his eyes that only threatened more to fall, Ganymede took a shuddering breath. There was only one answer to that question, for all that it felt like he'd lost something he'd forgotten he should've had, realizing it only now that it was too late.

"Y-yes."

"Good."

Knees scraping against the flagstones as he jerked at the twinned response, both eternally-youthful son and aged mother looked to the bed, where Tros opened his eyes, a tired, worn smile still lightening it. Callirrhoe's hands tightening slightly around his face in her surprise, then eased back up again, soft and worn against his smooth cheeks.

" _Good_. I hoped--- that you would have that. Look at you." Tros' once powerful voice was a tired whisper, or maybe Ganymede was so very used to clear, divine voices now that anything mortal would seem thin in comparison, but it was familiar nonetheless. So very long since he'd heard it, but familiar still. The hand his mother had been holding, still carrying echoes of former strength and sturdiness, reached out and brushed against Ganymede's cheek as his mother dropped her hand to let Tros touch him. "Come here, son. Closer."

Trying to even his breathing, Ganymede reluctantly got to his feet. Grabbed his mother's hand as it slid away from his face and sat down at the edge of the bed, turning so he could face both of them. His father’s still-broad, wrinkled and age-spotted hand came back up and cupped his cheek, and Ganymede _tried_ , but soon his eyes were burning hot again, swelling over like a dam unable to hold back added flood from a rain storm.

He felt guilty. Would it have been better if he’d been kicking and screaming every step of the way, unwilling instead of all too eager to fall into Zeus’ arms? Would his resistance have brought him back to Troy, too noisome and exasperating despite his beauty? He felt guilty, for he _had_ been happy, was still, and didn’t regret anything that’d happened so far, and couldn’t say he would really have wanted it differently, but…

But he’d missed _so much_ , and now there was no time left. Missed his father growing older and getting to spend time with him, missed Ilus’ children being born, missed every single potential hug his mother would have given him.

"Father---"

"I'm sorry, Ganymede."

Startled out of his words and thoughts both, Ganymede hiccuped and blinked tears out of his eyes as he stared at his father. It was so very strange to be looking straight at people's faces again, not having to look up. Though if his father stood up, then surely he'd still be taller, like Ganymede remembered. The thought almost cracked through his confusion, but he pushed it away, trying to focus.

" _You_ are sorry? What even for, Father?"

Tros' hand was shaking a little, but he kept it right where it was, soft, age-dried and wrinkled skin against his eternally-young son's smooth cheek.

"Ah, Ganymede." Tros shook his head, a slow, precarious motion, and smiled faintly, brittle and light. His mother squeezed his hand, and her hand, too, was shaking a little, though undoubtedly for at least partially different reasons than his father tiring himself out. Ganymede lifted his other hand and curved it around his father's, taking some of the weight of his arm. "You were seventeen, and... and the Deathless Ones get what they want. I should have kept the guard on you, though that... wouldn't have helped, of course. Even so, I should still have. I should have tried--- You were going to apologize, and for what?"

Bursting into startled, wet laughter, Ganymede closed his eyes and sniffled. Knew what he was about to say was exactly what his father meant, _what for_ , but couldn't not say it.

"For s-staying. For wanting to do so. F-for not being here. I shou---" His voice broke once more. There was no way to say everything that hadn't been able to be said for forty years. Had it been that long? Something like that, he thought. He'd missed so much, among the snatches he'd seen, little bits of important things that were like gems in the back of his mind. But he'd have known them up close and personal, would have learned them himself, if he'd just _been here_. Yet, even with the guilt, not having been where he'd been for the last couple decades was a strange proposition, a yawning abyss of what-would-he-have-been. He didn't know. He didn't really want it not to have happened, he just---

"Let me look at your eyes," Tros said, his own moist with age but otherwise dry, and Ganymede blinked them open, swallowing roughly, and his father smiled, sad and content at once. "Still as bright as ever. Hold onto that, Ganymede."

It was hard not to crush his fragile-seeming father when he collapsed onto him, wrapping his arms around shoulders that were still broad, but weak with age. Burying his face in the crook of Tros' neck was familiar and shockingly different, for the neck was soft with sagging skin and wrinkles, not the strong, smooth column he remembered, and the scent, while vaguely familiar, was dusty. Old, like the man he was clinging to, wetting the fabric covering his father's shoulder as much as he'd wet his mother's lap. He could feel his curls shuddering, not from his own shaking but from the handful of heavy tears that trickled down into them and were soaked up by his hair.

Why couldn't he have more time? Could he have asked to visit before this? If he had, would Zeus have granted it? Would that even have been a good thing, for him and for everyone else?

Ganymede's heart quailed under the weight of that thought, for he knew it wouldn't have been. This was as good as it would get, but it was _so short_. He needed more time. The door opened and Ganymede jumped, freezing against his father while flailing for his mother's hand, finding it and getting a trembling squeeze back, as if holding onto them would stall anything, for just a little longer.

"What's going on here?"

Sniffing, Ganymede's eyes widened against the protective darkness of Tros' shoulder, then let go, twisted around in his seat. Stared up with wide-eyed surprise at--- Gods, he was so old, but thankfully not as old as their parents. Ilus stood broad-shouldered and solid, wrinkles worn into the corners of his eyes and mouth, over the worry-lines worked into his forehead that'd been nascent when Ganymede had last seen him. A deep-lined frown that went from stern, angry concern into shocked, wide-eyed softness.

"Ga---"

Ganymede exploded up from the bed and, at least not having to worry about Ilus not being able to take his weight, practically flew at him. Ilus staggered but caught his balance, solid, muscled arms coming up around him. Ilus was old - what would he be, over sixty? Something like that, anyway - but he was still a pillar of strength, able to take his little brother's weight with only muffled complaint.

" _Ganymede_ ," Ilus exclaimed, voice rough now, and buried his face in Ganymede's crown of hair, clutching him close. After a beat or two, he tugged him back, holding him out at arm's length as he looked him over with a frown. "Gods. You look like my youngest children."

Briefly, Ilus chuckled, and Ganymede, startled by the comparison, did as well, the lights of the oil lamps seeming to strengthen with the pocket of levity. Then Ilus frowned again, hands tightening on Ganymede's shoulders.

"Why are you--- are you all right?"

There was a million questions baked into that single one, and Ganymede's eyes burned again, but no tears fell, just yet. Shaking his head, he scrubbed at them. "I'm fine. Father Zeus let me--- Let me come, for tonight."

Ilus stared at him, eyes dark, then past him to the bed behind him and their parents, and Ganymede felt his throat close up. Nodded. Ilus swore and stormed up to the bed, only letting Ganymede go so they could take one side each. Ganymede sat down on the side between his parents, Ilus on the other.

"Assaracus can't---"

"I know," Ganymede said, found a small, pale smile as he glanced to the other three, "I saw it. When Uncle lost his only son---"

He closed his eyes, shook his head. Their uncle had chosen to adopt Assaracus and made him heir to Dardanos instead of simply bringing in a potential king by marrying off his oldest daughter to a good, suitable man. What wouldn't Ganymede give for Assaracus to have known tonight was the night, so he could have been here for this, so as to at least be able to say goodbye to their father instead of having to do it by mourning after the fact, before the funeral and during it. 

If he'd just--- 

Squeezing his shut eyes tighter, Ganymede might have sat there like that, with his hands taken by one careworn, age-thinned hand each and a strong, broad one on his shoulder and just soaked it all up, but he didn't dare keep his eyes closed for long. There was so little time, and he couldn’t waste it by not looking, if he couldn’t do something to stop this. Opened them and looked from his mother and father to Ilus and back. He couldn't do this. He needed to do _something_.

"Father, mother---"

A light, thin finger came up to rest against his lips.

"Shh, Ganymede. You being here is all we could have hoped for. To see you---" Callirrhoe's voice cracked, and the smile was wet, but it took away none of the shining warmth in it. "To know, you've been well, and will continue to be so."

Throat convulsing, he nodded and looked to his father, who smiled at him, squeezing his hand. With the other he was holding Callirrhoe's other hand.

"You look radiant, Ganymede. Look after Troy for us," Tros said, his voice thin and nearly slurring, "above all, continue to be _happy_. That's all… who could hope or ask for more?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, and while Ganymede felt his mother and Ilus tense next to him, Ganymede himself didn't worry, just yet. There was only the four of them in the room still, so surely it wasn't time just yet---

The light changed.

Not that the oil lamps were doused, or glowed with anything but their warm, yellow light. It was just that they were shadowed by flickering black fire. Ganymede's heart twisted and his grip on his parents' hands turned vise-like with a cramping twitch of his fingers.

"Lord Thanatos---"

He shouldn't have said that, he realized after the name was out of his mouth, by the stern, dark stare the god gave him where he stood, invisible to the mortals, beside Ilus on the other side of the bed. Ganymede ducked his head, frantically trying to come up with something to say to delay things.

"Lord Thanatos," his mother said, her voice soft and thin, and by the twitch in the hand on his shoulder, Ilus heard the spidery sigh that came from Thanatos. Jumped up with a startled curse when the god became visible, towering above them with his wings like a cloak around him, his dark hair like a funeral shroud down his shoulders and back. The upside-down torch in Thanatos' hand was throwing unsettling, inverted shadows over the embroidered coverlet that covered his father, over the walls and the ceiling.

"Yes, Queen Callirrhoe?" Thanatos said, endless black eyes cutting with recriminating exasperation to Ganymede before he looked to his mother. Behind them all, Ganymede could tell Hermes was standing in the doorway. Ready to intervene, maybe. Ready to remedy Ganymede’s foolishness, most probably. He didn’t need to.

"Let me go with my husband."

Ilus and Ganymede both sucked in a breath, but each subsided with a twinned sigh. This wasn’t their choice to make, if Thanatos even granted such a boon. 

Ganymede gritted his teeth against the burn in his throat, in his eyes. Felt the tears bubble over as his mother glanced to him, then to Ilus, with a small smile. Thanatos, surprised eyebrows arched high on his smooth, pale forehead, looked away with a gaze that turned softly distracted for a beat, then nodded. 

"As you wish, Queen Callirrhoe." There might have been something like respect in Thanatos’ voice as he walked around the bed to stand between Ganymede and Callirrhoe instead. He reached out, touching first Callirrhoe and then Tros, a gentle brush of fingers to wrinkled cheeks. The torch in his hand flickered once, twice, each seeming to plunge the room into utter blackness despite the lamps.

Then he was gone, and there was only two hearts beating in the room.

"I--- I'm s-so---"

Grunting, Ganymede found himself with his face buried in Ilus' shoulder.

"Shut up, Ganymede. This isn't your fault. It's... it's probably better this way," Ilus said with a sigh, and Ganymede, though he didn't wet his brother's shoulder quite so thoroughly as he had with his mother's lap or his father's shoulder, still darkened it, clutching at him. Ilus held him tight, a hand petting through Ganymede’s hair, slow and unhurried. Ganymede was, again, not the only one shedding tears, and Ganymede wished neither of them would have to do so. They might have sat there for the whole night, for Ganymede didn’t feel capable of getting up, even less pulling away from Ilus’ solid arms. 

They both felt it when the air in the room changed when it finally happened, charged and heavy. Ganymede sniffed and tried to push away from Ilus so he could look up at Zeus, for he had no doubts that's who it'd be, but Ilus' arms tightened around him. Ganymede, surprised, subsided after a moment, opening his mouth. Ilus got there before him.

"My Lord Zeus." If Ilus hesitated to address the king of the gods, it wasn't audible. "You'll take care of him?"

This was ridiculous.

"That has always been my intention, King Ilus," Zeus said, voice a warning rumble, and Ilus snorted but let go of Ganymede. Scrubbing his face in an attempt at facing Zeus without bursting into tears the second he looked up at him, his eyes still swelled with with damning, wet heat as he got up from the bed. Leaned over it to kiss his father's cooling cheek and then his mother's forehead. Turned around and threw himself at Zeus, knowing the god would be there to catch him.

"Thank you." The whisper was muffled against Zeus' chest, but the strong arms tightened around him. He could feel Zeus' chest catching in a stuttered breath for a beat. 

Ganymede had no idea what looks Zeus and his brother might have exchanged while he blindly reached out behind him and Ilus grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing it like he wanted to yank him back, out of Zeus' grip. He did let go, though, and Zeus swept him up in his arms. Ganymede didn't even care he felt like and probably looked like a child like this; he just threw his arms around the broad shoulders and buried his face in the crook of Zeus' neck and let himself be carried out of there. It was a relief, as terrible as he felt for thinking that.

He wanted to stay; he wanted to go away as far as was possible, and even Olympos didn’t seem enough. He’d had seventeen years… it was nothing. It was everything. It was all he had, an endless summer of memory only darkened in small spots towards the end.

"Zeus…" Ganymede whispered as Zeus stepped up into the chariot, remembering he’d said he’d have to fly it home alone, and yet… "Will I--- forget, eventually?"

Just saying it made him shudder, his heart twisting violently enough he felt nauseous.

"Immortal memory is long, but you’re not divine as we are… probably." Zeus’ voice was warm and soothing, but the words were anything but reassuring, even if that was clearly what he thought they were, and thought Ganymede wanted to hear. Instead Ganymede smothered a wounded noise in the crook of Zeus’s neck, and Zeus startled, clutching him tighter to himself. "… Ganymede?"

"I--- I don’t _want_ to forget! I need to---!" Ganymede’s voice cracked, trembled. Knew he should squirm out of Zeus’ arm where he held him up against his chest, but like this he was nearly surrounded by Zeus’ towering presence and warmth. A shield, and even that wasn’t enough.

"Ganymede." Zeus didn’t say anything more until Ganymede’s breathing had evened out, though it shuddered every now and then, still. "If you want to be sure to remember anything of your existence before you became immortal that you remember right now, I’ll take you to Mnemosyne tomorrow. She’ll be able to help."

Zeus’ large hand was clutching his hip, warm and sure, and Ganymede felt him shift, lean in to press a kiss into his head. Ganymede leaned into the touch, and Zeus lingered there, only turned his head so he could rest his cheek against the soft riot of curls.

"Thank you." The whisper, almost lost to the cool night air, was answered only by Zeus squeezing his hip again. It wasn’t enough. It would have to be. He needed to hold onto everything he _had_ had with his family, for that was all he would get.

Time stopped for no one.


End file.
